


What Belongs to the Devil

by TheWritingSquid



Series: Broken Fates [2]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Action/Adventure, All Them French Matier Headcanons Rolling In, Canon-Typical Violence, Dumary Island Time, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27698285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingSquid/pseuds/TheWritingSquid
Summary: When Dumary Island calls for the help, the Order is quick to respond, sending Nero and Lady out to help Lucia face the emerging threat. Unfortunately, they are too late to stop Arius' summoning.
Relationships: Lucia & Matier (Devil May Cry), Nero & Lucia
Series: Broken Fates [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1942993
Comments: 20
Kudos: 31





	1. The Fall of Dumary Island

**Author's Note:**

> We're back!! And it's Lucia Hours too!! Very excited to add my best girl to the rota of people I regularly make suffer. :D This little chapter is one of the first things I ever wrote for this AU, some nine months ago, so it's cool to finally be posting it. I do hope it's not too confusing for those who barely remember scraps of DMC2 X'D, but I didn't want to go over too much known material so it hops straight to climax. Be ready. :'
> 
> This week's featured artist is Labyeha/Berheliyo!! Always fun to go back to work with old friends ^^ Check out the [art](https://twitter.com/Berheliyo/status/1331288908206731265).

Crushing power swirled atop the skyscraper's helipad, rising sweeping gusts of wind with it. Nero's muscles hurt from one too many battles—one too many wounds. He'd fought his way to the top with Lucia, striking down everything from floating skulls to a fucking demonic tank, including a wide variety of goat demons, but Arius' hordes had been relentless. By the time they had reached the helipad on top, Nero was bleeding from several small cuts and three long gashes in his side from powerful claws. This shit hurt like hell, and he was in a foul mood.

Then he saw this Arius, with the villain goatee and skull-frilled sleeves and evil cigar chewing, and Nero lost the last of his patience—not that he had any to begin with. They’d climbed all this way for a fucking clown? This dude looked like the make-believe Mundus kids dressed up as in plays about Sparda’s defiance, not an actual powerful sorcerer. Even with all the power crackling around him, Nero had scoffed and levelled Red Queen at him. His pale grey wings shimmered behind him.

“Dontcha think it’s a lil’ early for the whole Ruler of the World cape?”

Arius’s well-trimmed eyebrows arched, and he cursed Nero with an evil cackle. “And who will stop me? A defect and a child?”

“A defect?” Lucia echoed.

Nero didn’t spare her or the word more than a passing thought. He revved the sword, great flames springing to life with his anger. He wasn’t a _child_ , and this fucker was about to learn it the hard way.

He rushed ahead, sword blazing before him. Two women-shaped demonic constructs stepped forward to meet him, but he tucked into a roll to the left, dodging a first swipe of their blades—curved swords not unlike Lucia’s—then sprang back up and past them, never slowing down. Arius plucked his cigar out of his mouth and threw it down, stomping on it right as Nero took his first swing at him.

A black portal appeared around the sorcerer, engulfing him. As Arius vanished, Nero stumbled, carried forward by his momentum. Small tendrils reached out of the portal, closing down on his arms, pulling him in. Cold sharp pain coursed through his body, slicing at every muscle and nerves, blurring his vision until nothing but darkness and pain remained. Nero gasped, out of breath, his throat shut tight by shards of icy agony.

Then the portal spit him back out. He slammed on the concrete floor, rolling off, dizzy and throbbing. The whole world pitched as he fought for balance, and in the long second needed for him to regain his bearing, another cold circle of darkness appeared under his feet. Nero leaped up, drawing upon instinct and reserves to summon his large blue shield under his feet. Spikes of void sliced up just as it appeared, slamming into the shield. Nero’s feet landed on the inside of it, relief curling in his stomach at the deadly strike he’d just avoided.

A crystalline crack echoed across the helipad, then a black line spread across his shield. Power pulsed, and it exploded right under him, sending him flying back once more. He barely heard Arius’s ugly cackle through the ringing in his ears. Sight blurred, muscles cramped from pain, Nero struggled to keep track of his surroundings. He brought a knee under him, gritting his teeth against the pain, ready to push himself back to his feet through sheer willpower alone if needed. The concrete under his palms shimmered with power, growing darker and colder by the second. Nero hissed as spiky tendrils sprung out, snapping around his wrists and legs, ensnaring him. And Red Queen had landed a few feet away… Nero pulled and kicked at these bullshit tentacles, swearing when they tightened. A quick look up warned him Lucia had gotten flanked by both secretaries and Arius. She wouldn't last long alone, and he couldn't fucking free himself.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck._ " 

The secretaries plunged on Lucia, and three pairs of near identical twin blades met in a flurry of strikes. Sparks flew as Lucia spun about, and it struck Nero how different she moved—how much more fluid, purpose imbued into every parry and every strike. Her soul shining through, he couldn't help but think.

A soul didn't give her the advantage in such a fucking stacked battle, though. The secretaries worked seamlessly with one another, scoring tiny hits on Lucia, winding down her battered body even more. She replied in kind, but she already struggled to keep up—then Arius raised a hand, palm outward, and black tendrils sprang out of it, grabbing her arm long enough to prevent movement. Cutlaseers sliced through her midriff and leg, and Lucia stumbled with a ragged, angry cry.

“No… I will not—will not let you take my home.”

Her tanned skin glowed, white light spreading under the surface, coursing through her as she tilted her head back. It erupted from her in feather shapes, slicing through the black tendrils and exploding outward in a shockwave that knocked back the secretaries. Great white wings spread out on each side of her as her body shifted and grew, talons and beak growing until she reminded Nero of avian demons.

“Nous sommes les anges gardiens de cette île,” Lucia said, a melodic vibration to her voice transforming it almost into a song. “Et tu n’y es pas bienvenu.”

Nero didn’t know shit about French, but he did catch ‘angel’ in there. Had Sparda blessed her too, then? Her mother _had_ fought by his side, hadn’t she? But she looked nothing like Nero did; if anything, her angelic form seemed closer to Credo’s—pure and graceful where he turned into a destructive monster. And _his_ … he hated what it did to him, how that cursed sword changed more than his body. Nothing angelic there.

Lucia’s white light cracked and shattered Arius’ tendrils and she leaped up, ten shining feathers flying out of her and embedding themselves into the secretaries, staggering them. She snapped her wings out, hovering for a second above, her majestic form a beacon of hope against the darkened sky and swirling reddish clouds. Then she dove down, teal blades of flame at the ready, intent on Arius’s throat.

Hope, Nero found out, was a fickle and traitorous thing.

As Lucia plunged down, two tubular appendages topped with gnawed teeth burst out of Arius’s shoulders, striking upward to meet her. She flipped and sliced at one, but the other bit into her flank, where her skin had just closed over the secretary’s cut and remained a featherless patch. It yanked her down, smashing her hard against the ground, directly into the pool of darkness. Lucia’s light dimmed as the portal sucked her in partly, and she struggled against its bonds. They tightened on her as they had on him, and her angel form flickered in and out until it vanished completely. Arius laughed and lifted her up with a flick of his wrist.

“Did you think you could defeat me, who created you?” 

He stepped closer, reaching up to grab her chin. The two secretaries flanked him, removing their masks and revealing similar faces—traits sharper, less human somehow, and red hair cut short at their ears. Lucia said nothing, yet Nero saw how she arched backward, tensing within the bonds of Arius’s magic. Above their heads, the red swirling clouds formed a perfect circle crackling with energy—Argosax’s binding, unravelling.

“Don’t fool yourself into thinking you belong with them, little defect,” Arius said. “Everything that belongs to the devils will eventually revert to its original form. Sooner or later, so will you.”

What the fuck did that even mean? Nero’s anger swirled as Lucia muttered a trembling “N-no…” He’d had enough of this bullshit. That wasn’t how it worked! Being a demon or belonging to one, it didn’t make them dangerous, didn’t mean they’d turn on their friends. Sparda had defied his heritage and blessed them all. Hadn’t he? Nero gritted his teeth, pulling against the darkness holding him, his hand itching towards his hip—towards the power he so hated, but so desperately needed.

His fingertips brushed against the Yamato’s pommel and demonic energy flowed through him, hungry and eager. The sound of screeching steel filled his mind as his skin hardened into thick scales and sharp ridges, slicing through the binds of darkness. Nero drew the blade fully, a pale steel blue light glowing off it, and his entire perception of time and space shifted. The world slowed and twisted, an amalgam of auras of power and the enthralling scent of blood mixing together, beckoning him. All of it, his for the taking. His veins pulsed with need—for battle, for blood, for power. 

**My turn now,** whispered a jagged, distorted voice in his head.

Nero grinned and stood up. “My turn,” he said, a similar echo to his own voice.

He wrapped the entire world around himself, twisting through layers of time as he sprinted forward, the Yamato shining bright in his hands. Shimmering steel shards danced around him, spinning in a destructive protective shield, acting with a mind of their own as Nero rushed Arius—the biggest source of demonic energy here. He could take it down first; the others would bend to his power.

The sorcerer flung Lucia away, sending his two appendages to meet Nero. **Pathetic** , the jagged voice echoed within, and all of his spinning shards converged on Arius’s tentacles, slicing them into ribbons as Nero dashed through, rippling with power. A primal cry rose from him and he brought the Yamato down into a powerful diagonal cut, spun on himself, and slashed again and again and again. The blade slid through skin and muscles and bones with ease, its glee pulsing through Nero. 

He barely saw Arius fall, out of breath, light-headed from the dizzying rush of power, from the singular taste of victory and dominance. This was _**everything**_. 

Nero spun towards the secretaries, and in but a few seconds, they lay cut to pieces on the ground. He scoffed. What a waste of his time. Above him, another even greater power emerged. Wind whipped through long white hair as he lifted his head, a dangerous smile curving his lips. Finally a challenge.

“N-Nero?”

Lucia’s voice felt distant, distorted. A worm’s voice, unimportant. If she bothered him again, he could kill her, too, rip her into—no. _No._ Nero slammed down on the thought, fear and disgust swirling within him. This sword, this fucking sword. He couldn’t lose control, could not slip away and sink into the power. Nero stumbled and fell to his knees, sharp stabbing pain bursting through his skull.

**Give in to me.**

He couldn’t—wouldn’t. Nero fought the impulse to revel in his power and shed more blood, tightening control over his own body. His head pounded and he could barely see the ground before his eyes. 

“Nero!”

His name travelled miles to reach him, Lucia’s French accent fading towards the end, the quality of her voice changing. Softer, a little more nasal, familiar but unplaceable. The pain receded, leaving numb blankness behind, nothing but the foreign feeling of arms around him, a chest against his back. Brittle words whispered in a cold room. 

_And I saw it was filled with graves,_

_and tomb-stones where flowers should be._

Senseless words, yet Nero relaxed, certain that everything would be all right now.

###

Lucia stared at Dumary Island’s receding coastline, her eyes affixed to the brownish line of land in a determined battle to keep them from trailing the plumes of smoke rising from her home. The quiet splash of water against their boat didn’t register, buried by echoes of the battles just fought, demon shrieks and human screams mingling in her ears. Tears pricked the corner of her eyes. The remembered smoke, she told herself. She blinked them away before tucking loose strands of bright red hair back into her braid. 

She had failed. Decades of training under Matier as a protector of the island, yet at the first true sign of trouble, she had failed.

Her right-hand fingers clutched the hilt of her cutlaseer as if there were still demons to kill. She wished there was. Anything to release the pent-up anger and unleash the power crawling under her skin, pounding in her veins and mind. A devil’s power. Lucia gritted her teeth against the thought, Arius’s last words worming their way into her way.

_Everything that belongs to the devils will eventually revert to its original form. Sooner or later, so will you._

As if she was doomed to shift, to betray and kill those she loved. Those who had loved her. Lucia’s gaze tore away from Dumary Island, now overrun with demons of all stripes, and let it settle on the old woman at the ship’s bow, wind tinkling in the bronze belts holding down her scarf, her whole body resolutely turned away from their destroyed home. Matier had been part of Vie de Marli even longer than Lucia—centuries ago, she had helped Sparda defend it—yet she did not even glance back at her home. Lucia wished she had that kind of strength.

“Sorry we didn’t save shit in the end.”

Nero’s voice startled her. The teenager had stomped up to her, white hair smattered with blood and dirt, his creamy Order outfit torn and burnt by the recent battles. When she had first seen him three days ago, she had thought him much too young. Was that truly the Order of the Sword’s best? A child, overeager and arrogant? If so, they were in no better shape than her own clan, who had called upon them for help. 

His chaperone—a woman with slim shorts, a white jacket, and more guns on her person than Lucia had ever seen in one place—seemed much more capable, and Lucia had tried to focus her attention on her. The teenager had bristled at that, told her off with more swear words than Matier usually tolerated under her roof, then stomped away.

It had been a rocky relationship from the start, but Nero’s battle prowess had forced her to reevaluate her preliminary estimation of his skills. He had cut through demon lines with ease, flames dancing along the groove in his sword as he revved its strange motor, his footwork quick and secure, his shimmering blue shield sparing her from dangerous injuries more than once. Matier had said he truly carried Sparda’s blessing, and that she could see why the Order had deemed him a worthy heir. Nero had balked, but she saw it too, now.

She had seen its full, terrifying strength atop the skyscraper, when the power rolling out of Nero had matched even the growing presence of Argosax in the portal forming above—when he had put a brutal end to Arius and the secretaries, only to collapse an instant later.

“You saved her,” Lucia said, her eyes still on Matier. “She is the clan’s soul.”

Nero huffed and crossed his arms. “Mission was the whole island, not a single spiritual granny.”

Lucia’s stomach twisted in anger. Spiritual granny? She shot him her coldest glare and tilted her chin up. “You would choose rocks over people, then?”

“No, I—” He huffed and gestured at the darkened sky above Dumary Island. Reddish streaks often crossed the smoke, marking brand new portals to spew demons into the world. “I wanted both, damn it. It’s cool that we got some of your clan out, but this ain’t getting us anywhere. We save a smattering of lives while demons keep destroying everything, and every day there’s one more of these big powerful fuckers claiming a corner of our world. It sucks.”

Lucia studied him, quiet for a time. Nero had waded into the fight without hesitation, declaring with arrogance he’d keep their little island “spanking clean of demon asses”. Instead, they had met hordes upon hordes of demons, the endless waves taking their toll and eroding their energy long before they reached Arius. It hadn’t stopped Nero from bad-mouthing the sorcerer, promising him his shitty plan was over. Lucia had almost believed him, at that moment—her heart had filled with hope as she watched the wind snap into his blue scarf and spread his coat about, and pale sharp wings had appeared at his back. Sparda’s Chosen.

“You want to be a hero,” she said.

He flinched, and his earlier pout hardened into a proper scowl. “It’s not about _want_. Sparda picked my sorry ass for some reason. I got all this power, so I gotta do it—I have to protect those I can. It’s my job.”

Was it that clear cut for him, then? His powers dictated his role, and he had no choice in the matter. But if that was true, then would her demon origins also inevitably control her future? Nero stated his destiny as if nothing could be more obvious, yet a hint of resentment had snuck into his tone and his fingers twitched away from his katana’s pommel. He had only touched the blade at the end, when all had seemed lost, and Lucia could not help but think of it as a malevolent saviour. She would be dead without it, yet the Nero fighting with it had been a completely different person, shedding off his youthful eagerness to replace it with deadly efficiency and a barely controlled bloodthirst. Was _that_ her future? Did Nero also belong to demons, or was it only the Yamato?

“Jobs pay,” Lady interjected. She had been in the captain’s cabin until recently, buttering him up as thanks for waiting for them despite the overflowing demon portals. 

At first, Lucia couldn’t decide if she was glad Lady had set up an escape route for them, or angry she’d arrived late in order to do so, potentially making the escape necessary. But Lady’s lateness had more to do with defending the village from demons while everyone embarked on fishing boats to sail to safety than with securing their own lives. People over rocks, always. And yet, one had to wonder if Argosax would have ever made it out of the portal with the deadly mercenary by their side. If Lady had any regrets about her decision, however, she didn’t let them show.

“What you got, kid, is a whole lot of responsibilities. Ain’t the same.”

"We're all born for a reason." 

Nero pushed the words through gritted teeth, like sounds he'd heard over and over and learned to parrot. Lucia couldn't tell if he was clinging to them or fighting the urge to reject them. She hadn’t been born, however. She had been created, and she would not comply with the reasons behind that unless fate forced her to.

“Birth is but one block of who you are,” she said.

Lucia’s gaze returned to Dumary Island. Home was another of those blocks, and hers was gone now. It left a hollow within her, the block ripped away brutally, its jagged edges so sharp they might never heal. All of her life, she had been trained to defend this small piece of land, her powers honed for that singular purpose. She’d learned to love its jagged cliffs and rocky beaches, to soak in the sound of waves and the constant wind pushing at her braid, to taste the salt on her lips after a day training outside. Vie de Marli had been her whole life; she understood all too well what Nero meant, by “it’s my job”. To her, it had been a calling, a sense of purpose of which she was now bereft.

“Birth’s a shitty block to build anything upon,” Lady said. “You don’t get to choose it, and more often than not, it just fucks you over down the line.”

The bitterness there spoke of lived experiences and Lucia remembered Lady's initial reaction upon learning Arius had created her. She’d snorted, “so your dad is a sorcerous piece of shit who’d destroy the whole world in a bid for power? Welcome to the club, Lucia. Glad y’all at least fucked him up good.”

It had not stopped Argosax’s return and the thin veil separating Dumary Island from the demon world was ripped into shreds, but the sorcerer himself was dead. Small consolation, that. Lucia needed to cling to what silver lining she could find before the exhaustion and despair crawling over her settled into her soul.

“If you’re all done being philosophical,” Nero said, “we gotta figure out our next step. Island’s fucked, but you’re alive, Lucia, and so’s your clan soul or whatever.” He pointed a thumb towards Matier. “There’s still demons to kill.”

“My next step is to get paid,” Lady pointed out. “Contract said Arius, not Argo-whatever-the-demon-lord. Order wants me to go back in there and kill the big demon, it’ll have to shell out some extra. But honestly? Even with your stiff-ass brother to back us up, I don’t think we’d have the firepower to take this one on, and I don’t take contracts that’ll get me killed.”

Lucia stiffened. She hated the way Lady had said it, but she hated that she was right about Argosax even more. The great demon had emerged from the portal, a bulbous mass of bloodied flesh out of which sprouted vaguely animalistic heads and limbs. Claws had torn through the sky, then a huge gaping maw had pushed out of the portal, followed by a scorpion-like tail. The latter had smashed downward, stinger aimed straight for Nero’s chest. Her heart hammering, Lucia had reached within herself for the last of her ephemeral strength, transformed, and flown up to catch it midway, barely mustering the raw strength to stop its descent. It wouldn’t have lasted, had a rocket not exploded into the base of the tail a second later, quickly followed by two more into the gaping maw. Argosax had retreated momentarily as Lady came running forward, smoke still drifting up her weapon. 

“Get the kid, I’ll take his swords. We’re getting the hell out of this island.”

Part of Lucia wished she had argued, at the time, but exhaustion had blocked the words into her throat. She had known it was desperate even then, had felt Argosax’s raw power vibrating into her arms as she’d caught his tail. There would be no victory for them that day and they needed to flee.

They had barely leaped off the building when Argosax had shot a great white beam into it, exploding the entire skyscraper behind them. Eyes fixed on the horizon, she could almost still see the building where it used to be.

“It’s over,” she whispered, her shoulders hunched.

Nero stomped down. “No it isn’t. I ain’t admitting defeat!”

“You were unconscious. You did not feel its power,” Lucia countered.

“Maybe not, but ya know what? Credo always says it’s not over till we’re all dead.” He scratched at his nose, then his hand drifted down, close to his dangerous katana. “If I can’t defeat Argosax, then I can’t take on Mundus either, can I? So I don’t care what it takes. I… I’ll find the power I need. I have to. To protect everyone.”

 _Everyone_. As if that was possible at all. So many had already died on Dumary Island before they could get to the boat, torn to shreds under demon claws. Her home was smoke and blood now, as were so many others, and this child pretended to protect _everyone_? Lucia unfurled from her seat, standing tall over the teenager. She had held onto his bloodied body as they had ran back to the coast, every new scream tearing through her, every pile of rubble they sprinted past a new stabbing wound in her heart. How many could she have saved, if she’d dropped him? It was hard, so hard, not to question her decisions, not to blame him for deaths he had never provoked.

“It is too late for everyone,” she spat, and the depths of her own bitterness surprised her. “My home is dead, its people torn to shreds and devoured by demons, and they will remain so whether you become strong or not. ”

Or whether _she_ did. But Lucia was not ready to admit that. She buried the thought deep beneath the anger and the guilt and walked away—from Nero’s stunned gaze, from Lady’s arched eyebrows, but more than anything, from the crackling sky above Dumary Island and the devastated land she should have saved.


	2. Claiming Your Self

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone reels back from the attack on Dumary, and decides what goes next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *flings all my Matier headcanons into a single chapter*
> 
> I put translations of the French songs at the end!! With links to them too! Also, remember when I started this series I mentioned the stuff I'd written for [Daughter of the Island](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23985190/chapters/57694213) was canon for this universe? This is essentially where it ties in, and it's summarized here so you don't *need* to have read it all to understand at all. But, jsyk!
> 
> Anyway!! My featured artist for this week is LouRea. Because come on, Lucia content!! Please go check this [gorgeous Lucia and Matier art!!](https://twitter.com/FarLouRea/status/1338995184944771083)

Hours passed while they sailed back to the mainland, and none of them spoke of their loss on Dumary Island. Nero sat against the boat’s railing, legs curled up against his chest, the occasional spray of water a refreshing surprise dragging him out of his darker thoughts.

Killing Arius hadn’t been enough. He had almost given all of himself to this cursed-ass katana, and not even the power that had granted him had let him save the island. Sure, it’d be worse if Mister Villain Incarnate had been there to greet Argosax and help the demon lord spread his minions, but that seal had still been broken. Every day, more people died on his watch, and no matter how hard he tried—no matter how much he trained or risked—he couldn’t save them. How long was he supposed to fight like that? If Sparda had chosen him, why the fuck hadn’t he granted him even more power? How was Nero supposed to be the new saviour or whatever when he could barely face Mundus’s generals, let alone his second in command or the Prince of Darkness himself?

They were all fucked, that was the truth of it, and some days he wondered why he bothered to fight at all. But everyone wanted him to—everyone counted on him to. And if they thought he could do it, what right did he have to give up? It just… just wasn’t fair. Lucia was wrong. He liked helping people, but he didn’t wantto be a _hero_. He didn't care for the glory of it, the public eye. He wanted to curl home around hot cocoa and listen to Kyrie sing, knowing she and everyone else were finally safe from Mundus's hordes.

‘xcept he couldn't. His life was not his for the choosing. Sparda had granted him his blessing, setting Nero’s feet on a path he had no option but to follow. He needed to see this through and get to the end, no matter what.

Nero’s stomach tightened. He didn’t have a hundred ways to get stronger, but he hated what it did to him, to unleash the full strength of Sparda’s blessing. Sanctus promised him it was holy strength, but it didn’t make him feel that way. When he used the Yamato, he felt dirty… twisted and evil, thirsty for violence and domination in a way that made his blood curl every time he looked back. He hated it, hated how he became as bad as the demons he fought. 

“There is great power inside of you, but I sense great darkness, too.”

Nero jumped at the voice, and his eyes flashed to Matier, so small that even standing while he sat, she did not seem much higher than him. He offered one glare before turning his head away, to stare at the sea. “I ain’t in the market for old spiritual wisdom.”

“Good thing I do not sell, but give.” 

He snorted and ignored her, which earned him a sharp hit from her walking stick—a new gnarled staff to replace the artefact Arius had stolen from her.

“Has no one taught you respect, young man?” she asked. “Sparda was quite the charmer.”

“I don’t give a shit what Sparda was like.” Not that he’d ever tell anyone from the Order that, except maybe Credo. The knight would frown at him for it, and tell Nero the Sparda’s sense of justice and his steadfastness in defending humans were values to emulate, not mock. He would _love_ to hear Sparda was all polite and proper from someone who knew him. “Wait, what kind of charmer?”

Matier chuckled at his sudden change of mind. “Ah, but the kind who’d get into any woman’s heart. Wouldn’t you want that?”

Not _any_ woman, Nero thought, and he couldn’t help the red colouring his cheeks. He scoffed, trying to mask it with derision. “Ya sayin’ the great Saviour and Legendary Dark Knight was some womanizing schmuck?”

“The best of them,” she answered with fondness, and now he couldn’t help but wondered if she’d—oh lord. Nero blushed even harder. Yeah, he was definitely _not_ telling Credo that. Matier leaned heavily on her cane as she lowered her stout body down the ground beside him. “Your Order, they are funny people, to revere him so.”

Something in the way she said ‘funny’ told Nero she meant another word. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Nero didn’t care for all the decorum around the Order of the Sword—all the fancy outfit and big ceremonies felt pointless when the world crumbled around them. Credo said it grounded people, made them seem dependable and helped calm them when panic would only worsen their situation, but to Nero it all still felt like bullshit. The core of it, though… If Sparda was not with them, then how was Nero so powerful? 

“W-why not? He guides us. Gave me these powers.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Matier said, a strange inflexion in her voice, “but they are still yours. A part of you, so to speak.”

He snapped his head back to her, glare back in full force when he saw her smirk. “Whatcha gettin’ at?”

“You cannot change who you are, only accept it. Accept your self, Nero.”

She tapped the Yamato’s hilt with her index finger, and the sword vibrated at her touch, its power surging up as if to meet her. Nero scrambled away with a surprised swear. He could feel the Yamato in the depths of his soul, calling to Matier, pulsing, its entire will bent towards a single desire: **claim me.** Her eyebrows arched—could she hear, too?

“You are not mine to claim.” 

All frailty had vanished from her voice and a quiet strength emanated from her. She pushed herself back up, and although she groaned with the effort, Nero knew she needed no help, and never had.

“Good day, Nero. We will talk once more once my old feet are on the ground.”

She trudged away, ignoring the frustrated swirl of power she’d awakened at his hip. Nero’s heart hammered in his chest, snippy words stuck in his throat. What was going on with the Yamato? It’d never done that sorta shit before, always seemed dormant until it unlocked his powers. After, though… Was the bloodthirst not him, but the Yamato? Was this asshole sword just taking over every time he called upon its power? What the fuck was going on, and if Matier knew, why didn’t she just tell him?

“Hey!” He got up and scrambled after her. She stopped and turned at the sound of his voice, raised eyebrows a silent invitation to go on. This was why he didn’t take advice from oldbags: they were infuriating. “Stop fucking around and just tell me!”

“But I did, and I think you know it,” she said. “Accept your self, Nero.”

Matier bent her head as if bowing to him, then turned to walk away once more. He didn’t call out to her this time. What would be the point? Get told the same feel good bullshit a third time? No fucking thanks. His hands fell to his sides, and as his left fingers brushed against the Yamato’s sheathe, the blade quieted once more, leaving behind the eerie sensation of a child seething. 

“Yeah, fuck you too.”

Nero huffed, then stomped back to his initial spot and plopped down. He hated that he knew what Matier meant, or thought he did: these powers were his alone, but he was terrified of what they’d make him do. But without the Yamato’s help, he had no hope of ever winning. Nero sighed and leaned his head back against the railing, waves of exhaustion crashing through him. He was ready for this whole ass mission to be over, and for a quiet if meagre meal with Kyrie and Credo.

###

Lady jumped off the boat the moment it reached the docks, not bothering to wait for the captain to stabilize and tie them down properly. She hated boats—boats and planes and any transportation she didn’t control, or which left her trapped in the middle of deadly water or high in the air should shit go wrong. Just because she tried to prepare for any eventuality didn’t mean she wanted to deal with jumping off a crashing plane or drifting on emergency rafts or whatever, and she’d lived through one too many demon ambush to ever relax on a boat. Minor demons crossed all the time now, portals opening without warning and death diving for you. Those who wanted to survive learned to stay alert.

Alertness wouldn’t save her on a boat, though, not if demons destroyed it. She was glad for solid, reliable ground under her feet. Lady stretched out with a relieved sigh then turned to watch her morose companions walk to the docks.

After the sparks between Nero and Lucia, no one had said much else. Lady didn’t blame them. Even though a bunch of the islanders had already made it to the mainland, Lucia had lost a lot of good people there, and Nero… Lady had dealt with the bitter taste of defeat too often to resent the kid. He had a good heart—too good, honestly. It’d kill him one day, and this shit world would be even poorer for it. But that was the way it rolled, didn’t it? Good things weren’t meant to last against its onslaught.

Thankfully, she didn’t care to be good.

Credo had called her heartless, once, and she had laughed at the idea. Maybe she was—maybe she’d lost that part of her somewhere along the way—but being dead didn’t give her much of a heart either. As long as she lived, more and more demons died, and who cared if she did it for the money? For revenge? That was up to her, to what her soul demanded. Credo should take care of his soul and leave hers well alone. She got a card out of her pocket and handed it to Lucia.

“You ever need help protecting your flock from demons again, this is my number.”

Lucia crossed her arms without taking the card. “I am not staying. Matier will protect them.”

Lady’s eyebrows shot up. She moved the card towards Matier, then drew a second one and once more offered it to Lucia. “You ever want a partner…”

“A partner?” 

“You’re not the type to leave your people on a whim, and you’re not the type to let a demon like Argosax sit on your home without fighting back.” Lady didn’t think Lucia had much interest in serving the Order, either. She already had her clan, and the knights might not take well to her being a demon. “All I’m saying is… I don’t care who made you or how. I’ve worked with a demon who had a good heart before. You’re competent, and if you’re going to strike out on your own, you’re going to need money. So call me if you want a partner who knows what she’s doing.”

Maybe she shouldn’t do this. She’d spent years telling herself she worked better alone—nine years, in fact, not that anyone counted how many had passed since this world went to shit, or since Dante had disappeared on her, leaving behind nothing but his brother’s amulet and a note saying “BRB”. Typical Dante. Even after all these years, she still wanted to put one in his forehead for that bullshit.

Lucia accepted the card slowly and turned it between her fingers before reading the name inscribed on it. " _Devil Never Cry?_ "

"Don't ask—I didn't name it. Belonged to my first partner before _he_ took on a job that'd get him killed. Now he's gone."

Lucia must not have missed Lady's implied warning about playing the hero, because she narrowed her eyes. "My plan was not to take on mindless mercenary work."

"Suit yourself," she said, doing her best to hide the surprising stab of disappointment. "I kill demons, get paid in food and shelter and first aid kits—all that shit's in such short supplies, it's often worth more than coins these days. But I ain't gonna stop you if you wanna seek a higher calling. We all do what we have to. No matter where it leads to."

Lucia turned the card between her fingers, then slipped it in her back pocket. "I will keep it safe. Do not die before I call."

She brusquely extended a hand, and Lady shook it with a laugh. "No plans to die while I still got unfinished business," she promised, before turning to Nero. "Let's go make our report before your older brother gets on my ass for flunking my paperwork duties."

Nero huffed. "Keep complaining, all ya gotta fill is a single form. _I_ get mountains of it!" 

She'd seen his load and it wasn't that bad, but Nero hated it even more than she did. He got so caught up in complaining about the absurdity of making "Sparda's Chosen" waste hours filling out little squares on a sheet of paper that he completely missed Lucia's "Au revoir" and barely waved as they headed out to their ride. Lady rolled her eyes. Nero would bitch about that title all the time, except when he thought it should get him out of chores he disliked. Not her problem. She got paid to work with the kid, not to strip him of what dregs of childhood he still retained. The world would do that fast enough without her help.

###

Lucia and Matier walked the beach side by side, in silence, as they so often had in the past. It should be familiar and reassuring, this routine, but Lucia’s stomach churned at the heresy of performing it on a continental beach with soft sand while the gravel strips of Dumary Island were being trampled by demons. 

They had lost, and their tight-knit communities lay in shambles, broken families clinging to one another as they found shelter in makeshift encampments by the sea. Walking among them had driven the loss home harder than any desperate run through burning streets. Lucia had seen the numb horror on the faces of those who’d escaped, had noticed the ones missing, dead or abandoned. Lady had saved many—more than Lucia had initially expected, in truth—yet those she hadn’t left irreparable holes behind.

All because she hadn’t been strong enough. She had put everything she had into this fight, her entire body shifting as power had coursed through her, and _still_ she had been defeated. Arius had crushed her, and Argosax… Even now, far in the distance, the red glow of his great rift marred the sky. 

Despair tightened Lucia’s chest. She could not let the greater demon devastate the world, yet she did not see what hope they had of ever defeating him.

“I see the weight of the day on your shoulders,” Matier said, “and in every slow step you take.”

Lucia stopped in her tracks. Water lapped their feet and she stared at it, unable to meet Matier’s eyes. “I failed you. I failed Vie de Marli, and all the people on Dumary Island.” The rawness in her voice surprised her. She had been doing her best to bury the shame and anger, to no avail. “I’m—I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, child…” Matier trailed off. Love had filled her tone to the brim, and she closed her eyes, her head slowly swinging from one side to the next, as if to a rhythm only she could hear.

_“Ce n’est surement pas de briller,_

_Qui nous empêchera de tomber._

_Ce n’est surement pas de tomber,_

_Qui nous empêchera de rêver.”_

A sharp, almost pained laugh escaped Lucia as her mother slipped into the song, shedding off all of _Deux par deux rassemblés_ ’ fast-paced bop to offer instead a slow, heart-wrenching rendition of its message. Her love for Matier filled her chest, forcing it to expand with warmth until the sheer strength of it filled her eyes with tears. How could one remain so strong and full of life even as nothing but death surrounded them? And yet Matier’s voice rang loud and clear as she stared at the sea and sang of failures and second chances, and fighting for your dreams. Spitting out bits of her semi-clandestine collection of francophone music, ever the one-woman musical.

“Mamaaan,” Lucia whined, as she so often would when Matier got it into her head to sing the most atrocious French hits from decades ago, filling her poor ears with Plastic Bertrand.

Matier’s song died as she cackled, the amused twinkle alive in her eyes, her smile as true and honest as ever. “Ah, my child, do not ask me to stop. These are my roots, as is Dumary Island.” She tapped her cane across Lucia’s shin. “You would do well to remember yours, too, as you travel the world.”

“How could I not? Your singing will haunt me no matter where I go.” Lucia forced a smile to her lips but did not look at Matier. She didn’t think she could handle it, not yet. She had lost so much in such a brutal, short period of time, the idea of leaving Matier’s side… it was impossible, and yet they both knew that she must. She would never grow strong enough watching over refugees.

“The island too, mon ange.” Matier walked in front of her, letting her robes trail into the waves lapping their feet, and captured Lucia’s hands in her own, gnarled ones. Her neck bent as she looked up, her eyes darker than the nighttime sea. “You are a daughter of the island. It has blessed you, and its love for you will follow you no matter how far you go.”

The words scorched away her sadness, leaving only bitter anger behind. She snatched her hand away, stepping back from Matier. She’d heard this lie before, about Dumary Island granting her strength and healing, but she knew it for what it was now. Her trembling fingers reached for the amulet at her neck, which had shone a bright turquoise as she’d transformed, drawing upon the power of her lineage.

“Even now, you lie to me—” An angry snarl choked out her next words and she shook her head. “I have seen the others, the secretaries. I know I am Arius’ defect—a devil fabricated by his hand and thrown away. All my life…”

Lucia had no words for the betrayal burning through her, anger and denial twinning in her heart. She didn’t want it to be true, but every time she closed her eyes, she heard his words. _Everything that belongs to the devils will eventually revert to its original form._ She squeezed them shut now, and inhaled deeply before she found the strength to risk opening again.

“Tell me the truth, maman. All of it.”

Matier met her gaze without hesitation, and although she hunched still over her cane, her posture held no shame. She smiled softly, the barest hint of regret to it. “I have never lied to you, mon ange, though I long ago should have mustered the strength of a more complete truth. Walk with me, and I will tell you of the feathered baby devil I found at sea, bubbled in fast-depleting powers, and of how Dumary Island and myself came to adopt it.”

So they did. Matier and Lucia strolled along the continental beach as Matier retold her fated encounter by the sea on Dumary Island, and how the same baby had later gotten so sick she had taken it into the depths of the Island and found Lucia’s amulet hanging over a cradle-shaped altar. Matier’s voice turned soft and weary as she spoke of pleading for Lucia’s life, of the Devil Heart enshrined in her amulet calming her fever for the first time in days. Always, Matier had always told Lucia had been blessed by the Island, but she’d never explained how or why—she had certainly never said it was a demon’s core within the amulet, ground down to its purest essence. No wonder only she could use it… 

Lucia absorbed the information, silent. She would need days to work through it properly, but they didn’t have that now, and only a few words echoed through her mind, over and over. 

“So I _am_ different,” she whispered. 

Matier answered with an agreeing _hm_ , and let the splashing of waves fill the conversation for a time. Lucia closed her eyes and breathed in the salty ocean air, so similar here. She had always been a demon, and Matier had always known.

“You are. But you are also my daughter, as you are Dumary’s. Never forget that, Lucia. Never forget your roots. They will hold you steady in the strongest of storms.”

Was it really that simple? Did it not matter at all, who had created her or what she was? She let Matier’s words sink in, wrapping herself in her mother’s voice, the embodiment of strength and wisdom for so much of her life. She wanted so badly to accept this as truth, to allow herself to be more than Arius’ defect.

Birth is but one block of who you are, Lady had said. It was up to her to her to find the other ones—to add to what Matier had given her through the years. Lucia’s eyes fluttered open and she slipped the Devil Never Cry business card out of her pocket. The next blocks were up to her, weren’t they? She could build herself into whatever she wanted.

“Find your path, mon ange,” Matier said, wrapping her fingers around Lucia’s forearm. “I will keep our people safe.”

Lucia’s voice tightened. These were goodbyes, and she had never expected having to make them. 

“I will miss you. I will miss your voice.”

Matier laughed again, the clear sound bouncing off the waves. She tapped Lucia’s forearm. “Of course you will. After all, _toutes les mamas…_ ”

And she launched into another song, her hips shaking as she strung Maurane’s lyrics about mothers with golden voices and the love they deserve. The beach was deserted for miles, and Matier put the same energy into it as she would have at home, cooking or cleaning—as if the very collection of miscellaneous French songs she owned was not burning even now. Her earnestness washed Lucia’s melancholy, and she could only join one last time, spinning with her old, eccentric, ever-loving mother. 

_Alléluia mama!_

_J'ai tellement d'amour pour toi._

_Je veux chanter et danser comme toi._

_Je veux aimer comme toi._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upkeep note before I forget!! My buffer is not getting any better, so we're taking another break so I can finish the next one. Hopefully? I expect to start back in January but honestly, I have been struggling with every single word for a while, so the best you can do is to subscribe to the series to get a notification for the next fic!
> 
> Here are the songs with translations! I do really recommend clicking through the first and just picturing Matier with those dance moves. 
> 
> [Song #1 : Deux par deux rassemblés (Assembled Two by Two)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LU3_VmDgn5Y)
> 
> _Ce n’est surement pas de briller,_ (It is surely not to shine)
> 
>  _Qui nous empêchera de tomber._ (That will stop us from falling)
> 
>  _Ce n’est surement pas de tomber,_ (It is surely not to fall)
> 
>  _Qui nous empêchera de rêver._ (That will stop us from dreaming)
> 
> [Song #2: Toutes les mamas (All the Mamas)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RlfYkR9abiI)
> 
> _Alléluia mama!_ (Alleluia mama!)
> 
>  _J'ai tellement d'amour pour toi._ (I have so much love for you)
> 
>  _Je veux chanter et danser comme toi._ (I want to sing and dance like you)
> 
>  _Je veux aimer comme toi._ (I want to love like you)

**Author's Note:**

> No best way to get Lucia involved long term than to tear off her roots :D


End file.
